"Quite so, when it is made in a way to render it out of the question to
put it to the uses for which it was designed. I should as soon think of
trimming gum shoes with satin, as to trim a handkerchief in that style."

"Style? Yes, I flatter myself it IS style to have a handkerchief that cost a
hundred dollars. Why, Clara Caverly, the highest priced thing of this
sort that was ever before sold in New York only came to seventy-nine
dollars. Mine is superior to all, by twenty-one dollars!"

Clara Caverly sighed. It was not with regret, or envy, or any unworthy
feeling, however; it was a fair, honest, moral sigh, that had its birth in the
thought of how much good a hundred dollars might have done, properly
applied. It was under the influence of this feeling, too, that she said,
somewhat inopportunely it must be confessed, though quite innocently--

"Well, Eudosia, I am glad you can afford such a luxury, at all events.
Now is a good time to get your subscription to the Widows' and
Orphans' Society. Mrs. Thoughtful has desired me to ask for it half a
dozen times; I dare say it has escaped you that you are quite a
twelvemonth in arrear."

"NOW a good time to ask for three dollars! What, just when I've paid
a hundred dollars for a pocket-handkerchief? That was not said with
your usual good sense, my dear. People must be MADE of money to
pay out so much at one time."

"When may I tell Mrs. Thoughtful, then, that you will send it to her?"

"I am sure that is more than I can say. Pa will be in no hurry to give me